Full of Grace
by PlaidButterfly
Summary: "We have decided, Noatak, son of Yakone, that you will be sent back, to be your mother's daughter, instead of your father's son." Two years after the fall of the Equalists, as judgment of the Spirits, Noatak is sent back as the waterbender Noa to make up for past sins. Heavy Lieumon.
1. Chapter 1

**for hnery: o captain, my captain**

—

_It takes the third call, harsh as a whip's kiss, to actually make you remember your name._

_You had no idea, in life, that you could come undone like this, but here you are, unravelled completely. Yes, you believed in spirits. In a casual, distant sort of manner. But now you believe, and that is why you are before them, trembling._

_"Noatak, son of Yakone, raise your head!"_

_You do. You are not sure if you have a head anymore but you raise it. Things are muddled, unfocused, unclear. The parade of bestial spirits glares down at you in wide watercolor swaths, and you beg, hopefully not loud enough to hear, that this is not another punishment._

_"We will release you when we see fit," one snaps. "For the hubris of saying you speak for us."_

_You did not beg quietly enough._

_There is a sudden stillness. A few solid beams of light become a figure that is almost familiar, the great disc of the moon behind her, flowing robes at her feet. Yue the blessed, Yue the divine. Yue who bends down now to whisper in the ear of so many other spirits. They huff. They sigh. They listen._

_"We have decided," one rumbles, as the moon herself smiles at you, "that you will be sent back, to be your mother's daughter, instead of your father's son."_

_You are about to ask them what they mean when the world suddenly dissolves into pitch-black._

* * *

><p><em>He knows full well that both of you want to get out of here, but nobody said your probation officer wasn't above being petty. For every minute you made him wait, he'll keep you three extra. Probably bitter about his job, to boot. Probation officer isn't exactly glamorous, not like even the beat cops who get to brag about their metalbending. You're sure he's a bender, of course, but probably a wash-out from metalbending training. That's why he's stuck on a desk.<em>

_He hates you, and you know it, but you stare at him patiently for the remaining fifteen minutes before asking if you can go. He says yes, with a snarl._

_"Don't you fucking dare be late next time. Just because I've been assigned you doesn't mean I have to like it. Some of us still remember who's Equalist trash around here."_

_Hate. A funny thing. You used to be so full of it, just like your probation officer still is, but now you're not. Spirits know you've tried to be; hate was a good motivation, hate could get you going. But now all you have is greying hair, a threadbare coat, and aches in your bones. And a hardass probation officer._

_The New Equalist soup kitchen is busy as ever. They are turning people away and you didn't even think to go in, not today, before one of the fresh young faces runs after you. "Sifu Tien, Sifu Tien!" Sifu. You've never been more unsure of a title but it seems to please the young hopeful things to call you such, so you let it stand. "We saved the last for you, I'm sorry there isn't more…"_

_Thin soup in a wax-paper cup. You smile and thank the boy. Spirits, it kills you to see how happy he is, how he bounds back to the soup kitchen even to deliver more bad news. Spirits above, it kills you to know that some of them even think of you as heroic. And maybe you were. At least standing by Amon's side, you had someone to fight. But that fire is all ashes now, isn't it?_

_The soup is the sort you drink, not the type you eat. Just enough to keep body and soul together. You think. You hope, anyhow._

_Your apartment would be bigger if you could finally unpack Amon's trunk, but instead it looms in the corner like the man himself did, eating up all the lantern light and leaving only bones of shadow. You can't make yourself angry over it, just like you can't make yourself be angry over anything these days it seems. You are just too tired. Too awfully tired._

_And so you find the pallet on the floor, and you sleep._

_You do not expect the moonlight to wake you. You do not expect the moonlight to speak._

_Her voice is shining, like temple-bells and fireflies, and wakes you gently. "Lieu. Open your eyes, Lieu Tien." You're obedient, and you do. She is shimmering above you, the ceremonial robes swirling around her as if in water, her hair white as starlight and pure as snow. And so Yue smiles at you._

_You believed, sure, in a far-off and distant way. But now you believe, and you are trembling. You raise your hand and point at yourself, asking a silent question._

_"Lieu Tien, son of Minh and Tuyen. Lieu of the Thousand Blows, Lieu the Avenger, Lieu the second-in-command of the Equalists. Once husband to Aei and father to Lan. Then the beloved of Noatak, whom you know as Amon."_

_Yes. That is you._

_Aei and Lan. You try not to think of them, just like you try not to think of Amon. Most days you don't accomplish such a task. You'll see a dress of the type Aei would wear, a toy that Lan would have loved, back several lifetimes ago when you were just a bullied farmer sick of having to pay protection money to the local Earthbending gang. Back before you buried your child and then your wife after learning how harsh the consequences of a lack of protection could be. Back before you joined the Equalists. Before you fell in love again. Before you lost your love once again._

_Yes. That is you._

_"I come with a message, Lieu Tien," she sings, her voice so perfectly heavenly that it is sweet on your ears like sugar on the tongue. "I am taking a risk by being here. But the Spirits have talked amongst themselves, and reached a decision. My compromise, as it were. It will be important for you to play a role in what comes next, Lieu Tien the Steadfast, if this is to end well. Or you can choose to walk away. I cannot choose for you. But I can tell you this: your love has been returned to you, and is on the beach below."_

_She turns her divine head, and smiles, looking out the window to the beach below._

_"And I would hurry. The tide is coming in."_

* * *

><p><em>Water.<em>

_Blue-black - bitter - water billowing, reaching over you, grasping for you, rolling you over and over again -_

_Bubbles from your nose -_

_You reach out. A hand, you have a hand again - your hand? Your hand - it is wrapped in blackness, in seaweed?, no, in hair - your hair -_

_Saltwater slams into you again - it is relentless -_

_You breach the surface - the air burns cold in your lungs -_

_Another wave and the blackness takes you._

* * *

><p>If he had been going any slower, Lieu perhaps would have minded the cold. As it was the puffs of steam from his lips just seemed to be evidence of how his body worked hard to cope with his running gait, as if he had traded in a heart for a steam engine. He was good at running. Perhaps other men could outdo him in terms of sheer weight hauled about, but his sinewy calves were like cables of steel, and he could keep going at this pace forever if he felt so inclined.<p>

The city was quiet so late at night. Cold enough for dew that would perhaps edge into frost later. But for now the stretch of Yue Bay was quiet and drenched in moonlight.

His coat was perhaps a bit too threadbare and patched, but running kept him warm enough. Besides, he had a purpose.

Lieu figured that when you were told to do something by the Moon Spirit, you should get to it.

There were tangles of seaweed and driftwood at regular intervals. Scattered detritus of the city that had floated out from the sewer to the ocean and then attempted to crawl back to where it came. A broken children's toy in among the wreckage. Something twitched deep within Lieu's chest: it looked familiar, though he couldn't immediately place it.

And then, in among the seaweed, a larger lump.

He jogged as quickly as he could before crouching down. There was a tangle of brown-black hair, sticky with dampness, familiar in tone and texture. He swept the hair away from her face, and held her hand over her face. A soft tickle of warm breath. She was still alive.

Crouched down in the sand, brushing wet hair from her shoulder. It was what he needed to see. An old scar. A familiar scar. Framed on darker skin, but he knew just how it had been made. He had seen the dagger flash over Amon's skin and draw blood, and he had been the one to stitch it up that night. It was a rare moment of weakness. Amon had mutely held onto Lieu's leg even as he worked at the stitches, and then, later, his hand. There hadn't been need for any words that night. Just intertwined fingers desperately clutching at one another.

The scar was all Lieu needed to see. Mutely, he took his coat off, crouching down and wrapping the woman up. He even chanced a small kiss to her forehead as he lifted her up into his arms and started to walk back to his cheap apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Lieu knew the groan. It was smaller and more keening, now, but the same tone. The last time he'd heard it was after a celebration where Amon, by his count, drank at least five Ba Sing Se Sidecars - after several pints of lager and whatever else was on tap that night - all through straws very carefully slipped through the mouth slit of the mask - and then had to face the consequences the next morning.

At least then Lieu hadn't felt bad about laughing a little at the situation. Now, though, he kept quiet.

There was still sand in her tangled hair where it had dried into mats, but at least it was dry. Lieu's coat was much too small for her but he let her have it on, and had piled on a few more blankets besides. She had been shivering even as she was unconscious. He had been sure to set her near the small gas heater, as far from the chill seeping in the window as possible.

Another little whining groan. The pile of covers shifted and she frowned, reaching up to rub at her face in apparent sleepy aggravation. Lieu desperately wanted to reach out to her, and his hand came close, but it hovered at her shoulder, trembling slightly before not daring to actually rest on her.

"Nnnhuggh." She coughed and then, again, cleared her throat. "Spirits. That's - is that my voice?" Another splutter. "It _is _my voice." Higher-pitched and sweet, but something in the base timbre was still there and familiar.

She pawed at her hair and the blankets for a moment, half-rising up, her arms trembling, before she blinked owlishly in the dim pre-dawn lamplight at him. "Lieu? …What are you doing here?"

"Well, it _is _my apartment," he joked weakly.

"But - you're supposed to hate me."

He was quiet for a moment before answering. "Tried for a few months. It didn't really work out." It was a joke without any humor, but he made it anyway.

"…Months?" She ran her tongue along her teeth in thought. "How… how long has it…?"

"Two years. Give or take."

She shook her head before groaning again, holding her hands to her temples as if her skull were about to fracture in half. The grimace only intensified when the teakettle on top of the gas stove began to lazily hiss. For a few long moments only the kettle sang, and Lieu stood to move it off the hot burner and pour it into the teapot so the tea could begin steeping.

Self-consciously, she pulled the blankets more tightly around her. And she couldn't look him in the eye. "You still love me, then."

"I do. I've never been very good at falling out of love, I guess." The china clinked as he put out two teacups on mismatched saucers. He didn't seem to look her in the eye, either, and was thankful to busy himself with finding a spoon and the small bag of sugar.

"You idiot," she whispered, trembling.

Lieu cleared his throat. "Do you -?"

She cut him off, voice breaking in earnestness. "Yes." And she had to stop there, dragging in a breath just on the cusp of a sob and holding it to keep her composure.

"Good," he murmured quietly. The reassurance made her close her eyes for a moment, briefly overwhelmed, before she felt she could breathe again. Silverware clinked on the inside of teacups. He didn't ask how she took it; he already knew from bringing his lover so many cups of late-night tea. Two sugars. No cream. When he handed it over to her, she cupped her hands over his.

"How can you still love me?"

"After you've changed?" He pulled his fingers out from underneath hers, and gently clasped her wrists. They both knew the importance of touch. Sometimes holding hands was all they could manage on busy days, nothing more, nothing closer. "You're still the same person. The same heart, the same soul."

"Don't say that - I'm not, they - the spirits - made sure of that -" She closed her eyes, gulping as if suddenly reeling from nauseated. "I'm not. I… I don't even know who I am. You can't love me like this."

Lieu said nothing, simply reaching out to put his hands on her cheeks. She immediately flinched like some wild, easily startled animal, but didn't shy away from his touch. Instead he merely tilted her head up, meeting her eye to eye.

It was the first time they had looked at one another, pale blue meeting pale grey. Lieu's gaze was scrutinizing, but he said nothing, only giving a small nod. Measured, and not found wanting. His thumb brushed a tendril of hair at her temple away.

"I still love you," he repeated softly. "If you're willing to try and love me back -"

She nodded her head yes, breaking free of his grip, fluffing the blankets around her like an owl ruffling its feathers. "But we need - we have to do this properly. From the beginning. I can't - " Frantic gulping followed another sucked-in breath. "I'm not the same person, I'm - spirits, I can't even think straight." She glanced up just in time to see the soft sadness on his face. "But I'm willing to try. If… if you're willing?"

"Of course I am."

Her nod was businesslike now, and she snatched up her tea to take a deep sip of it. She stared into the middle distance like it held the answers she was looking for.

"No more lying," she blurted. "I'm not lying to you again, I mean. Not again, not ever again. …And I'm going to tell you the truth of who I am. Where I came from, at least. That part. At least I know that part."

"You don't have to -"

"No. I do."

She finished her cup of tea in another series of gulps, surely scalding her tongue, but offered it out to Lieu. Mutely, he fixed her another cup.

And she told him.

She told him about the snow and ice that was home. She told him about having a brother named Tarrlok. She told him about how things were happy, once, until they weren't anymore. She told him about seeing anger on their father's face, and about always taking the blame, because that's what you were supposed to do for little brothers - you were supposed to keep them safe, you were supposed to protect them. She told him about how their father perhaps enjoyed punishing them a little too much. Then she told him about hunting trips, their father's past and wish for them, and about making wolves dance underneath the moon. And then, finally, she told him about a final act of defiance, turning into the blizzard, and hoping the white would finish things.

She was shaking by that point. Not out of remembering biting cold. Out of something else, like how a machine rattles and trembles, working its cogs out of balance before finally failing in a shower of bolts.

"I think I know about what happens from there," he said quietly, putting a hand on her arm.

For a moment she looked ready to argue, but instead she let her head drop, looking exhausted. Sunlight was creeping through the window in earnest now, painting gold on the cheap apartment's scuffed floor. He took her empty cup as he stood, heading into the kitchenette. "There's not much, but there's at least some cereal for breakfast. I could go get something when I go to use the telephone in the lobby…"

"The what?" She had heard him clearly. But the thought of her arrival being worth a telephone call made her suddenly terrified. She didn't know what would be worse - to have Lieu talking to Hiroshi, encouraging the militant Equalists to get back as they had been before, or to have him calling the metalbending police…

Lieu noticed the panic in her voice, and gestured widely. "Just to tell the other New Equalists I won't be there today. We were planning to repaint one of the rooms, trying to expand the soup kitchen a bit more. I had a few meetings with business owners about seeing if they could donate their extras - cast-off clothes, day-old bread, things like that. But it's not as important -"

"No, you should go."

He frowned as he walked back over to her. "I can stay here, it's really no problem."

"No. You're -" She had to pause again. "You're doing good. That's what you should be doing. And… I…"

"Could use some time alone?" He suggested softly. She gave a grateful nod, bowing her head as he crouched down and rested his hands on her shoulders. "The shower needs a few minutes for the hot water to heat up, but there's plenty of soap. And I… I don't know how useful it'll be, but - I did keep your old trunk. So your clothes and everything - they're still there. I didn't… I didn't really touch anything."

A torrent of apologies pushed at her lips. She could picture it so perfectly - Lieu, alone, wavering between intense sadness and anger, wanting desperately to open the battered footlocker and pull out all of Amon's old clothes, hoping to capture some of the scent of his lover, as if that would somehow help - but never giving in, as if opening the thing would be admitting some sort of defeat.

She could see it in the corner. Two years' worth of dust sat on top.

"Thank you," she whispered. He said nothing, only drawing her into a tentative hug and kissing the top of her head.

"I just have one question," he said softly, even as the phrase immediately made her heart seize into ice. "You don't have to answer right now. And you can change your mind later."

She gulped.

"…What should I call you?"

The question was so mundane that she gave a small relieved laugh before she knew what she was even doing, and clapped a hand over her mouth. His smile was warm and for the briefest of instants it seemed natural, harmonious, as if none of the tragedies or changes had ever happened.

"I mean, not Amon, obviously. Maybe Noatak, or -?"

"No, not that," she snapped before looking flustered at her own anger, combing back her hair. "Well - no. Maybe that." He looked at her, tilting his head, a quiet encouragement for her to keep thinking aloud. "I'm… I was sent back here to be my mother's daughter, instead of my father's son. And my mother _did _choose that name for me. In part, at least. So I need to honor it." The soft pink of her tongue was just barely visible between her lips as she thought. "…Noa?"

"Noa." Lieu repeated the name, and nodded. "It suits you."

And he leaned in, resting forehead-to-forehead with her - his arms were more hesitant about enveloping her but she fumbled with the covers, clinging to him. In that instant it was very easy to believe that things would be all right.

"I don't care about anything else," Lieu confessed in a whisper. "I'm just glad you're home, here with me. That's selfish of me, isn't it?"

"No," she ventured quietly. "And… and you deserve to be selfish, and to have me wherever you want me. So I can begin to make things up to you."

He said nothing at this, just pulling back and kissing the top of her head again, tasting the salt that had dried there from seawater. "I'll be back before sundown. Or maybe just a little after. I know it's not much but there's at least a few things in the pantry to eat - and there's a few yuans in my nightstand if you want to get something delivered. I'll make sure to come home with dinner." Lieu paced for half a moment, stepping forward and then shifting his weight to his back foot as he looked at the clock and put on his second-best coat on. "Promise me you'll try to relax a little, all right? Just… take care of yourself."

"I'm fine -"

"You nearly drowned this morning in freezing weather," he admonished quietly. "Besides whatever else."

His lips pursed, on the verge of asking a question, when she cut him off. "Please don't ask me to explain all of what the Spirits did. Please." Her voice was ragged and desperate. "I'll tell you everything else, I promise, I just can't - "

"It's all right," he soothed. "I won't. If you don't want me to, I won't."

He watched her for a few minutes, how flustered and twitchy she had immediately become, how she seemingly tried to withdraw even more into the blankets.

"Seaweed noodles and beef, right?"

She jerked her head up, apparently brought back to reality. And, after a moment, she smiled. "…And an order of potstickers?"

"Always." He smiled back at her - the old smile she remembered from earlier days, when Amon's Lieutenant could let down his guard just enough to talk about dinner and make the occasional sly joke (and rest his hand on Amon's knee underneath the table, and let it drift upward)… The flood of memories was a welcome relief. "I'll see you tonight. Get some rest."

"I will."

One last smile before he closed the door.

Noa took a deep breath, sucking it in and then letting it out through pursed lips as her head dropped forward. Her hands snaked out of the blanket and she flexed them a few times in an effort to get used to how not-quite-the-same everything felt. It was disorienting. A little confusing. And she had been expecting much more pain.

But Lieu still loved her. Despite everything, _Lieu still loved her._

And that made it good to be home.


End file.
